Phyllida looked away.
“It isn’t any good. I know. Why did you do it?”
If she had been watching Grace Paradine she would have seen her eyes brighten and a little colour come up in her cheeks. She meant to fight, and she meant to win. She felt the glow which the fighter feels. She made her voice very gentle.
“Phyl, darling, what do you mean? Won’t you tell me? Is it something that he has been saying? If it is, I think you will have to tell me.”
Phyllida looked, and looked away. She could not meet what she saw in Grace Paradine’s face. It had meant love and shelter as long as she could remember. It had meant sympathy, kindness, protection. She couldn’t face it. She said almost in a whisper,
“Please, Aunt Grace-”
And then suddenly courage came to her. When you have to face something, you can. She said,
“Yes, I’ll tell you-I must. Elliot and I have talked. I know he wrote to me-twice. I know what was in the letters. I didn’t get them. I know why. I know all about Maisie.”
“You know what he has told you.”
“Yes.”
“My darling, do you suppose that he has told you the truth? Do you suppose that any man tells the truth about that sort of thing? He is tired of this girl now-I believe she has been ill-and he wants you back. Why shouldn’t he? You are young and pretty, and you come in for a comfortable sum of money under James’s will. Naturally he wants you back.”
Phyllida said steadily,
“You say Maisie has been ill. Don’t you know that she has been paralysed for months?”
“Is that what he told you? Did you believe him? Oh, my darling, do you want him to break your heart all over again? He wants you now-how long would he want you if you were ill like this poor girl? He throws her over-he isn’t ashamed to come and tell you about it. What have you got to trust to? I suppose she thought she had something. What will you have?”
Phyllida lifted her eyes. They had a look of immeasurable sadness. She said,
“It’s no good. It wasn’t like that-I think you know that it wasn’t. We love each other. You mustn’t try to separate us any more.”
There was a silence. Then Grace Paradine said in her deep, tragic voice,
“Is that how it is?”
Another silence.
Grace Paradine turned away. After a moment she said,
“I want to make you understand. Will you listen to me, Phyl?” The words were gently, even tenderly spoken.
Phyllida’s breath caught in her throat with pity.
“Of course.”
Grace Paradine was not looking at her. She stood half turned away, and she looked down at the papers on her table.
“It is so hard to make anyone else understand. That is the tragedy of the older people-they have suffered themselves-sometimes they have suffered horribly. Very often it has been their own fault. They have expected too much, trusted too much, made mistakes because they were ignorant, because they thought they knew everything. The one thing they want in all the world is to save the children they love from making the same mistakes and suffering in the same way. What do you think it feels like when the children won’t listen, won’t believe-when they have to stand aside and see them walking towards a precipice?”
“You can’t live someone else’s life, Aunt Grace, however much you love them-you have to let them live their own.”
Grace Paradine turned her head. She was shockingly pale, but she smiled.
“Your voice, but not your words, Phyl. Come here a moment, my darling.” Then when Phyllida had come to her she put a hand on her shoulder. “Look, Phyl-here is the first photograph I had taken of you after you came to me. You were eighteen months old. I did everything for you myself. You were the dearest little baby. Later on I got a nurse for you, but I nearly always washed and dressed you myself. Here’s the miniature I had done when you were five. It’s very like you still. Here’s your first school photograph- in that hideous gym tunic, but you were so proud of it. Here’s one in the dress you had for your coming-out dance. It was a pretty dress, wasn’t it? There are dozens and dozens more. I’ve kept them all. Most of them are somewhere in this room. Everyone laughs at me about them-Dicky calls it my Phyllida gallery. But I’ve never minded their laughing. Every bit of you has been too precious to part with-I’ve wanted to keep it all. You see, you’ve been my life.”
Phyllida made some movement, some sound as if she would speak, but the words wouldn’t come. With a new vibration in her voice Grace Paradine went on.
“It’s the only life I’ve had. You can’t understand that, can you? I’m telling you, my darling, because I want you to understand. You have always been loved and wanted, but I haven’t.”
“Aunt Grace!”
Grace Paradine said low and steadily,
“Whatever place I have now I have made for myself.” She looked into Phyllida’s face. “Has anyone ever told you that I was an adopted child?”
Phyllida was most unfeignedly startled.
“Oh, no.”
“I suppose most people have forgotten it-it’s so long ago. James’s mother lost a baby girl, and they adopted me. I believe she was very fond of me, but she died before I was five. The others were quite kind, but I was nobody’s child. I set my heart on having a place of my own. When I got engaged I thought I was going to have one. I suppose you know that I was engaged to Robert Moffat?”
“Yes.”
“A month before my wedding day I found out that there was a girl over at Birstead-somebody told me. He didn’t deny it-he just said it was all over. James and his father wanted me to marry him-they didn’t seem to think it mattered. Phyl my darling, I’m not telling you this to distress you, but to show you why I felt as I did about Elliot Wray.”
Phyllida said in a low voice,
“Yes, I see that. But it’s different-”
“Is it? I don’t think so. My life was broken, and there wasn’t anyone to make it easier for me as I have tried to make it for you, there wasn’t anyone to surround me with love and tenderness. There were ten dreadful, empty years. And then there was you. Everything began again. It was like a new life. You can’t let go of any part of your life without dying a little. That is why I kept all your clothes, all your photographs. I couldn’t bear to part with any of them-it would have been like parting with some of my life. And then Elliot came.”
It was when she said Elliot’s name that Phyllida began to feel as if she couldn’t bear it. She was gentle, but she wasn’t stupid. All this emotion, this pain, was being used as a weapon against Elliot. Emotion which you do not share can become intolerable. To be so near to Grace Paradine, to be actually and physically under the weight of her hand, had become intolerable. But to draw away now-she couldn’t do it.
Grace Paradine had paused as if Elliot’s name had halted her. Now she went on.
“He came-James invited him. If I hadn’t been away, he would never have had the chance of hurting you-I should have taken good care of that. But when I came back it was too late-you were engaged. And James backed him up-I’ve never forgiven him for that. I didn’t like him, and I didn’t trust him, but there was nothing that I could lay hold of. I wanted a longer engagement. James took his side again. Then when it was too late and you were married, I got Agnes Cranston’s letter. I can’t tell you how terrible it was to get it like that-too late.”
The hand on Phyllida’s shoulder was cold. She could feel it through the stuff of her dress, heavy and cold. For all her pity she couldn’t bear it any longer. She stepped back. The hand fell. A slow, dull colour came into Grace Paradine’s face.
Phyllida said in a voice which she tried to keep from shaking,
“Please, Aunt Grace-I came here to say something. Won’t you let me say it? It’s no good going over what has happened. We started wrong-we’ve got to begin all over again. Elliot and I are going to. Won’t you? People can begin again. It isn’t wrong to get married and have a home of your own. My real mother would have been g
lad-”
She could have said nothing more disastrous. An old smouldering jealousy caught and flamed. Phyllida saw a face she had never seen before-control breaking into fury, lips moving over words which came to her in a low, dreadful mutter. She hardly knew what they were. She was aghast and shaken.
When Grace Paradine said “Go!” she ran out of the room with only one thought in her mind, to get out of sight and sound of the storm which she had raised.
Chapter 42
Downstairs in the study Frank Ambrose said in a tired voice,
“Oh, yes, I came back. I don’t mind telling you about it-I suppose it was bound to come out.”
He sat where Mark Paradine had sat, in a chair drawn up to the short side of the writing-table. Miss Silver faced him across its length, placidly knitting. Bent over the blotting-pad, Superintendent Vyner was taking notes. On the opposite side Colonel Bostock sat frowning, and wishing that he hadn’t known all these people for donkey’s years. Dashed awkward situation-dashed awkward case.
It was Miss Silver who coughed and said,
“I think it would be as well, Mr. Ambrose.”
Frank Ambrose squared his shoulders. He looked like a man who hasn’t much left to come and go upon. His big frame was kept upright only with an effort. His large impassive face sagged with fatigue. The fair skin looked grey. He said,
“It is really very simple, but because of my stepfather’s death all the natural, simple things which happen in a family have become suspicious. So you see, I can tell you what happened, but I can’t make you believe it. There is nothing to corroborate my statement. There is only my own unsupported story. I came back because I was greatly disturbed and distressed by what my step-father had said at dinner. The more I thought about it, the more I felt that I couldn’t just leave it at that. I made up my mind to go back and talk the whole thing over with him. If you ask anyone who knew us both they will tell you that we were on very intimate terms. In some ways he treated me as a son, in others as a friend. I mean that he would discuss things with me. That’s why I came back. He had a strong, sarcastic temper. I didn’t want him to do anything that would make a permanent breach in the family.”
“How did he take your coming back?” said Colonel Bostock.
Frank Ambrose was silent for a moment. Then he said,
“We talked. I was with him for about twenty minutes. Then I went away.”
Vyner looked up and said,
“Did he tell you that Mr. Wray’s blue-prints were missing?”
There was again that moment of silence. Then Frank Ambrose said,
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you who had taken them?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”
“You can, of course, refuse to answer any questions now, but you may be asked them in another place, when you will be on your oath.”
“Of course I realize that. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything more at present.”
When the door had shut behind him Miss Silver said “Dear me!” Colonel Bostock blew his nose loudly.
“Well, what do you make of that? He knows something.”
Vyner was shutting his notebook.
“There isn’t much doubt about that.”
“Looks as if he hasn’t slept for a week. By the way,”-the Chief Constable turned to Miss Silver- “his wife’s out of it-that girl Irene. Glad about that. Nasty thing for a young woman, murder. Not at all the thing. Vyner’ll tell you.”
The Superintendent turned his pleasant blue eyes upon Miss Silver.
“I had some enquiries made at Dr. Horton’s house. The two maids share an attic room to the front. Well, one of them says she looked out somewhere after eleven and she saw Mrs. Ambrose walking up and down like she said she did. You will remember that it was bright moonlight until the rain came on at twelve. She is quite sure about its being Mrs. Ambrose. She made a joke of it to the other girl. It seems she was always ringing Dr. Horton up about the children, and this was the girl who would take the messages, so they made quite a joke of it, and looked out several times to see if she was still there. They were up late because the other girl was going to her sister’s wedding next day and she was finishing her dress. They say Mrs. Ambrose was still there at ten minutes to twelve. I think that’s good enough.”
Miss Silver nodded.
“Oh, yes.” Over the clicking needles she looked brightly at the two men. “I think we may say that most of the time between a quarter to ten and midnight is now accounted for. It might be helpful to have a time-table before us. Perhaps the Superintendent will be kind enough to take one down-
9:45-Departure of Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose, Miss Ambrose, and Miss Pennington.
9:50 or so-Departure of Mr. Mark Paradine and Mr. Richard.
9:52 or 53-Mr. Pearson to the study to say goodnight, followed immediately by Lane, who saw him both enter and leave.
A few minutes later-Mr. Wray to the study to say goodnight. His visit was very brief. Coming out, he found Mr. Pearson waiting for him. They proceeded to Mr. Wray’s room, which they reached before ten o’clock.
10:10-Mrs. Wray to the study to talk to her uncle.
10:30-Mr. Ambrose knocks on the study door and is admitted-Mrs. Wray having gone out by way of the unused bedroom next door.
10:50-Mr. Ambrose leaves.
11:00-Mr. Mark Paradine to the study.
11:30-Mr. Mark Paradine leaves. Mr. Wray and Mr. Pearson come down to the dining-room to have a drink. Mr. Wray hears the front door close. He also hears a door shut upstairs on the corridor occupied by Miss Paradine and Mrs. Wray.
11:53-Mr. Wray and Mr. Pearson return upstairs. They separate immediately. Mr. Wray goes to have a bath.
Superintendent Vyner stopped writing and looked up with an extremely startled expression on his face.
“Did you say 11:53, Miss Silver?”
Little Roger’s dark grey leggings revolved beneath the busy needles.
“That is what I said, Superintendent.”
Vyner’s eyes remained fixed upon her face.
“Mr. Wray and Mr. Pearson have both stated that it was eight minutes past twelve by the clock in Mr. Wray’s room when they came upstairs.”
Miss Silver coughed,
“The clock had been tampered with.”
“God bless my soul!” said Colonel Bostock.
Miss Silver continued to knit.
“Mr. Pearson’s alibi naturally attracted my attention. It was, if I may put it in that way, so very determined. On the other hand, he made no secret of the fact that it had been carefully arranged. If you will refer to his statement you will see that he says quite plainly, ‘After the accusation made by Mr. Paradine against a member of his family whom he did not name, I could not afford to have it supposed by anyone that it might be aimed at me. I therefore waited for Mr. Wray and took care to remain in his company until well after midnight-Mr. Paradine having stated that he would sit up in the study until twelve o’clock. It was just on ten past when Mr. Wray and I separated at the door of his room.’ ”
Vyner had been flicking over pages. He nodded.
“Word-perfect, Miss Silver.”
She inclined her head.
“You see he is quite frank, and that what he says is reasonable. He is not liked by the rest of the family. The cousinship is a distant one, and as far as any familiarity is concerned is more or less in abeyance. It is only the younger members of the family whom he addresses by their Christian names. It is Miss Paradine-Mr. Ambrose-Miss Ambrose. Everyone would have been relieved if he had been the culprit. The desire for an alibi might therefore be natural and innocent. On the other hand it might not. If he had a motive for killing his employer, this innocent-seeming alibi might be very useful indeed. No motive has up to the present come to light, but if such a motive should be discovered, then the following points will be of interest.” She unrolled some more of the dark grey wool, turned her knitting, and continued. “The first point is this. If you w
ill turn again to Mr. Pearson’s statement you will see he says that Lane was in the study when he went in to bid Mr. Paradine goodnight. In Lane’s statement there is what reads like a corroboration of this, but it is not quite accurate. Mr. Wray, Mrs. Wray, Mr. Ambrose, and Mr. Mark were all greeted by Mr. Paradine with the same half sarcastic, half jocular remark, ‘Have you come to confess?’ I wished to know whether Mr. Pearson had been greeted in the same way. If he had, and if there were anything serious on his conscience, the question might very well have convinced him that his fault was known, and he may then have planned Mr. Paradine’s death. All this, of course, depends on whether he had some serious dereliction to conceal. On questioning Lane I discovered that he was not actually in the study when Mr. Pearson entered it. He was coming through the swing door with a tray, when Mr. Pearson, who had approached from the other end of the passage, passed before him into the study. He heard Mr. Paradine say, ‘Hullo, Albert- have you come to confess?’ ”
“God bless my soul!”
Miss Silver’s needles clicked.
“It is not necessary to labour this point. We do not know whether Mr. Pearson had anything on his conscience or not. He had no time to answer Mr. Paradine, because Lane came into the room, and though he was called back for a moment as Lane was leaving again, he was out in the passage before the swing door had closed. I really do not wish to put too much stress on this small point, but I think it may have to be considered later on.”
Vyner said, “The point being, why did Mr. Pearson say that Lane was already in the room when he came in?”
“Yes.”
“It might be just part of his being nervous about his reputation.”
“That had not escaped me, Superintendent.” She coughed and continued. “We now come to the second point. If Mr. Pearson’s alibi was a false one, the clock in Mr. Wray’s room must have been tampered with. I tried to think when it might have been done. Not before dinner, because there was no indication then that the room would be occupied, or that Mr. Paradine would make the accusation which he did, in fact, make after dinner. Not between the time the accusation was made and a quarter to ten, because Mr. Pearson was in company with the rest of the party during that time. The first opportunity would occur between the time when Lane saw him leave the study after saying goodnight to Mr. Paradine and the time, a few minutes later, when Mr. Wray found him waiting in the passage. He would have had time in the interval to run up the back stairs and alter the clock in Mr. Wray’s room.”
The Clock Strikes Twelve Page 21